


Just Like The Movies

by Brenda



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angie Can Take Care Of Herself, BAMF Angie Martinelli, Broadway Star Angie Martinelli, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Kept Trying To Escape Hydra, Bucky Misses Steve, Gen, M/M, This Is Comics Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She almost stumbled over him before she noticed the figure slumped against the stoop that led up to the front door.  This side of town was pretty well lit with streetlamps, bright enough for her to see it was definitely a fella - even with him huddled and hunched on himself, there was no mistaking the breadth of his shoulders. He stirred and peered up at her out of super pretty eyes that were almost hidden by long dark hair. He was clutching his right elbow close to his chest with his left hand, which was...metal. </i><br/> <br/><i>Solid metal.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like The Movies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperclipbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/gifts).



> Takes place post-Agent Carter S1, and goes under the comics assumption that Bucky kept trying to break out of his programming and escape his captors, which was why they eventually started keeping him on stasis between missions.

Late night cabaret shows were the worst.

Not that Angie was ungrateful for the job or the opportunity, far from it. This was a gig – an honest-to-goodness paying gig where she got to _act_ and sing and show off her talents – and it was already doing wonders for her in terms of networking. She'd already been contacted by a big name producer in Hollywood (Hollywood, all the way out in _Los Angeles_ , wasn't that a kicker) to come see him at his studio whenever she was ready for a film career. He'd offered to fly her out there and everything, and not in a sketchy, casting couch way, either (she had a nose for these sorts of things and she was pretty sure he didn't swing her direction, if you caught her drift). 

On top of that, she had two – count 'em, _two_ – auditions for actual Broadway shows lined up in the next week, thanks to this job. So, of course she was grateful and of course she was happy to stay as late as it took to socialize and schmooze after the performances each night, because this industry was all about the connections and who you knew. Angie may not be the brightest girl in the room, but she sure as hell knew how to work one.

But the late hours meant taking the subway and then walking the last twenty or so blocks from the station. After a full shift at the automat and then the cabaret gig, she was dead tired and her feet were always killing her by the time she made it home. Sure, yeah, Jarvis was a sweetheart and kept offering to drive her home every night, but he had a wife that needed him, and Angie could take care of herself, always had. She had brass knuckles in her clutch (a gift from Peggy, who, because she was the bees knees, didn't try once to talk her out of either the job or taking the train at night) and Peggy'd taught her a couple of slick moves to bring down anyone who tried to come at her from behind. Honestly, if she needed anything, it was someone to massage her feet at the end of the day, but soaking them in Epsom salt before taking a bath was almost as good. At least the hot water never ran out at Howard Stark's place. He probably owned the water line or something.

She could probably find her way home blindfolded by now, as many times as she'd done it. Not that the view of the corner brownstone where she and Peggy were currently shacked up got any less amazing, no matter how many times she saw it. She still couldn't believe that Howard Stark – THE Howard Stark – was letting them live in Swankville for free. She hadn't even had to bat her eyelashes at anyone or anything, and she knew Peggy hadn't done anything of the sort. One day, Peggy might be the flirting type again, but it sure wasn't going to happen any time soon. 

(Peggy was getting better, she really was, but Angie could still see the sadness in her smile sometimes, knew she was still mourning Captain Rogers and what could have been. These things, Angie knew, took time.)

She still wanted to pinch herself sometimes. It was like the movies, y'know, everything all coming up roses and working out for the best, where a chance meeting with a lonely-looking gal somehow wound up with a multi-millionaire offering _one_ of his Upper East Side townhomes as a place to stay. Angie still didn't really know how Howard and Peggy knew each other, beyond something Peggy let slip once about them working together during the War. Maybe Peggy'd saved his life or something or maybe it had to do with her SSR work, which Peggy was still pretty secretive about. _For her own safety_ , Peggy'd said, which was a riot, really, because Angie wasn't some wallflower or Nervous Nelly, she could handle –

She almost stumbled over him before she noticed the figure slumped against the stoop that led up to the front door. This side of town was pretty well lit with streetlamps, bright enough for her to see it was definitely a fella - even with him huddled and hunched on himself, there was no mistaking the breadth of his shoulders. He stirred and peered up at her out of super pretty eyes that were almost hidden by long dark hair. He was clutching his right elbow close to his chest with his left hand, which was...metal. 

_Solid_ metal. 

"Oh, okay, wow." She didn't mean to stare, she really didn't, but that arm, it was unlike anything she'd ever seen, not even in the issues of _Popular Science Monthly_ customers sometimes left behind at the diner. It was all gleaming and shiny silver, with individual plates that shifted whenever he did, and it _looked_ just like a real arm. Except for the silver part, that is. 

"That's, uh...is that thing real?" she asked, in a hushed voice.

He just blinked at her and nodded once, but didn't say anything. 

"No kidding?" She wondered how far up it went and how functional it was. She wanted to ask how heavy it was, how he moved with it, but another look at him stilled her tongue. 

His nicely squared jaw had that sort of stubborn jut to it, but his mouth was pulled into a tight line of pain, and he was sitting outside the brownstone like he was waiting for somebody. And she bet she had a pretty good idea as to who. An arm that looked and moved like that could have only been built by a very small number of people, and Angie only knew of one of them by name.

"You waiting on Howard, hon?" she asked. It would make the most sense, really.

He gritted his teeth, nodded, and grimaced when he shifted. He was still cradling his right arm. "This...this is Stark's, right?" he asked, in a rusty voice.

"Yeah, but he ain't here right now," Angie said, with a regretful shrug. "What'd you do to yourself? You need a doctor or do you need to go to the hospital?" 

"No doctors." He shook his head. His clothes were dark and streaked with dirt and something else that Angie didn't want to think too much about, but she couldn't tell if he was injured anywhere else. "No hospitals."

"Yeah, alright, I get it." She recognized the type. Peggy was the same way, because she was as stubborn as a mule. "You with the SSR?"

He shook his head again. "I need to talk to Stark. If he's not here..." He grabbed at the railing with his metal hand to pull himself up and hissed out a sharp note of pain, doubling over from the force of it. That was when she realized he hadn't been cradling his arm at all, but the gash in his gut that was still oozing more blood than she ever wanted to see in a lifetime.

"Aw, geez, mister," Angie sighed, and hurried to him, putting her arm around his waist to help him climb the steps. "No funny business, alright. I can defend myself."

His small huff of laughter barely stirred her hair. "Noted," he said, and it was pretty clear from the stiff way he was moving that he was trying not to lean on her too much as they made their slow way into the brownstone.

She led him straight to the drawing room and urged him onto one of the sofas. He was probably going to ruin it, but, well, she figured Howard could afford to have it reupholstered, and it was either the sofa or the really expensive looking Persian rug. "Stay right there," she instructed, and hurried up the stairs to her bathroom to grab a few things, including a bowl of water, and then to her room to grab her sewing kit. 

She checked Peggy's room – no sign of her – and sighed. Probably working late as usual. She wished Jarvis was here at least, but he and his wife had gone to one of Howard's country estates for the weekend to do some spring cleaning or reorganizing, Angie hadn't really been paying that much attention. 

She raced down the steps as fast as she could without spilling any of the water, and returned to the drawing room to see her house guest trying – and failing – to stand. "What're you doing, sit down already before you bleed all over the sofa. Well, bleed more," she amended, with a wince. She set everything on the coffee table and took the seat next to him. "C'mon, we gotta get this cleaned up and stitched up."

He slumped back onto the cushions and lolled his head in her direction. And now that she'd gotten a good look at him, there was something familiar about him, like she'd seen him before or met him before. Angie may not be good with names, but she never forgot a face. It'd come to her eventually.

"You don't have to do this," he said – well, slurred, really. 

"I know I don't, but it was either this or let you die on my front stoop and I'd rather not have that on my conscience if it's all the same to you." She busied herself unrolling a bandage pack and cutting it up into strips. "Can you lift your shirt or take it off for me? I can cut if you can't."

"No, I got..." He tried pulling at it, then let out another small groan. "Well, maybe not."

"It's alright. I've got one older brother and one younger, so I'm used to fixing up scrapes," she told him, and deftly took the scissors to his shirt, cutting it off of him with a couple of well-practiced snips. Although, she admitted to herself, neither of her brothers had a chest like this fella's. Or abs like his, either.

The gash went from his side all the way up to his ribcage, though it didn't look _that_ deep. But it did look pretty painful, and it was still sluggishly bleeding, so the time for admiring was done. She only spared a short glance to the scarring around his left shoulder, where the metal of his arm seemed to slot in against bone and flesh. It was a beautiful piece of work, but it also looked like getting it attached had been painful as hell. She had no idea anyone, even someone as brilliant as Howard Stark, could build such a thing. They were truly in the age of marvels.

She dunked a few of the strips into the water, then bent her head, and went to work trying to clean out the wound as best she could. He hissed, then stilled, almost like he wasn't even breathing. It was a little disconcerting. "I'm Angie, by the way," she said, glancing up at him with a smile. "Angie Martinelli. You got a name?"

He nodded, then shook his head. "Yeah, but better for both of us if you don't...ow, fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to...just...call me Jim."

"Jim, huh." She didn't say anything about his language – she'd heard far worse, both from her brothers and backstage at various theatres all over New York. Besides, if their positions were reversed, she'd probably be cussing up a storm, too. "No last name?"

He grimaced again, but his face had a little more color to it now, so she hoped it meant he was starting to feel a little bit better. "None I can tell you," he said, and even sounded regretful.

She figured as much. He hadn't gotten his wounds or those scars playing ball, that was for sure. "So, Jim, how do you know Howard? I mean, other than him setting you up with your arm. It's amazing work, really detailed, he should be proud. Did you lose it in the War or something?"

"Something like that. And let's just...well, let's just say Stark told me to look him up if I ever got in a jam –" He inhaled sharply when she brought the needle and thread to his flesh and started to stitch the deepest parts of the wound closed. 

"Sorry," she said, but didn't look up. "Wish I'd thought to bring you over some whiskey or gin."

"It's alright," Jim replied. His stomach muscles contracted on the next inhale.

"Almost done," she told him, looking up again with another reassuring smile. He really did have the prettiest eyes. Prettier than Alan Marshal's, even, and there was _something_ about them that was familiar, she'd swear on a stack of Bibles. Maybe up on the screen? Give Jim a haircut and a shave and some decent threads, and she'd bet anything he could put Gary Cooper himself to shame. "You an actor? Or, did you used to be one?" she asked. "I swear I've seen you before."

He chuckled, low and breathless, but genuinely amused. "No. Definitely not."

"Damn, I'll figure it out eventually," she said, then sat up with a satisfied smile. "There, all stitched up. Let me get this bandage around you and then I can see about finding you a new shirt to wear. Howard's gotta have something in your size."

Jim was quiet as she finished, just held his arms out so she could wrap the bandage around his middle. She didn't linger, even though he had the smoothest, nicest skin where there weren't any scars or nicks on him. But she did admire the way the white of the bandage contrasted against his light tan. (Sue her, she was only looking.) "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Any friend of Howard's is a friend of mine." She stood, smoothing her skirt over her legs. She needed to wash her hands and rinse out her shirt before the small drops of blood that had dripped on them stained, but she could do that while she was upstairs. "There's a bathroom right through that door if you wanted to get cleaned up a little," she said. "I'm gonna go find you something to wear and then I guess we'll figure out what to do about getting you in touch with Howard."

His grin was surprisingly sweet and boyish. "Okay."

She blinked, a little stunned by the brightness of it, and had to force herself to turn and head for the stairs. She bet he'd charmed his way into more than one woman's heart with a smile like that. Here she was, a woman of the world, and she'd gone unsteady in the legs herself. _Goodness_. 

She took a minute or two to catch her breath while looking for a suitable shirt that she thought might fit Jim's shoulders (his very nice and broad shoulders) and the metal arm, which looked a little bigger than the flesh arm. She also grabbed a pair of pants as well that she thought might fit, and walked back down the steps. 

She heard water running when she got to the bathroom, and knocked on the door. "Got some pants and a shirt for you," she called. "I'm going to leave them here and go to the kitchen to make a couple of sandwiches. It's just down the hall to the left."

"Thanks," Jim called back, voice muffled.

She left him to his privacy and scrounged in the pantry for a minute before she found the bread and mustard, then went to the icebox for a tomato and the leftover roast from the night before. It wouldn't be the most elaborate sandwich, but it was better than nothing. She was slicing the tomato when she heard the sound of footsteps. "Hope you don't mind roast," she said cheerfully, "because that's all we've... _wow_."

To say Jim cleaned up nice was the understatement of the year. He'd run a comb or his fingers through his hair so it was off his forehead and scrubbed at the dirt and grime and blood on his face and maybe he still needed that shave, but there was no hiding those high cheekbones or the thickness of his lashes. The shirt she'd found fit him very well indeed – he'd rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, showing off the nice flesh forearm and the gleam of the other one. And when she snuck a quick peek down, well, the pants she'd found _also_ fit very well.

"Thanks for the threads," he said, with another one of those charming smiles.

"You're welcome," she breathed, then mentally shook herself and went back to the tomato. "Uh, roast is okay?"

"Yeah, it's great, thanks. I haven't eaten since...it's been awhile."

She finished putting together two sandwiches and slid the plate across the counter towards him. "Yeah, about that. You mind telling me how you got that injury?"

He bit into the sandwich with gusto and swallowed before answering. "Long story. Better for your sake if you don't know the particulars."

She shook her head. "Typical," she answered. "You and Peggy, two peas in a pod."

He dropped the rest of his sandwich on the plate and went so still Angie was worried he'd pulled his stitches or something. "Peggy?" he asked, barely a whisper. "Did you say _Peggy_?"

"Yeah," she said, with a frown. "Peggy Carter. She's staying here at the house too. Why, you know her?"

He scrubbed his flesh hand over his face, let out a humorless laugh, then picked his sandwich back up. "I might," he said, his voice wobbling so slightly she bet he wasn't even aware of it. "Posh accent, brunette, bombshell body, packs a mean right hook?"

"That'd be Peggy alright," Angie chuckled. "How do you know her? Through Howard?"

"No." A sharp pained look flashed across his face, made him look old for just a moment. Worn. "You could say an old friend introduced us."

"She's got a lot of those," Angie mused. Her curiosity was definitely piqued now, but she didn't press. Time enough to get the story out of him after he'd eaten. "Anyway, yeah, Howard's been letting us both stay here as thanks. Well, thanks for Peggy saving his life and New York. I think he just felt sorry for me, but I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Peggy saved New York, huh?" He finished one sandwich, started on the other, all the while giving her a curious look. "How'd she do that?"

"Some Nazi scientist had some bomb he was gonna drop on the city and Peggy and Howard helped stop him. Crazy stuff, huh." She scarcely believed it herself, and she'd sort of been in the middle of it.

"Crazy stuff," Jim repeated, with that same small, pained, faraway look on his face. "But she's okay, right? She's safe?"

"Yeah, she's fine, right as rain, you know Peggy," Angie replied, with a slight dismissive wave. "Nothing keeps her down. She should be home pretty soon, you can ask after her yourself if you want."

"She is?" He swallowed, and it had to be a trick of the light, but she swore he looked almost terrified for just one second. Terrified and so hopeful her heart clenched in her chest. But then his face cleared, so fast she thought she might've been seeing things. "That's...well, it'd be nice to only have to tell my story once."

"Oh, right. Howard." She shook her head. "Sorry, I almost forgot. I'm gonna go ring Jarvis, see if he knows where Howard is this week. Will you be okay here for a minute?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Jim smiled, soft and fond. "You're a good person, Angie Martinelli. You remind me a lot of someone I used to know."

"Yeah, who's that?"

This time, there was no mistaking the grief in his voice. "My best friend." 

She wanted to ask what happened to him, but she thought she could probably guess. The War had torn apart their entire generation, left too many families and friends shattered and broken and trying to pick up the pieces. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Best man I've ever known."

"Well, thank you very much, then," she replied, touched, and smiled back at him (he had _such_ a great smile, too) before walking into the dining room to use the phone there.

She hated getting Jarvis out of bed at such a late hour, but she figured he'd understand. And if anyone knew where Howard was hanging his hat these days, it'd be him. She'd just given the number to the operator when she heard a slightly muffled thump and then another right after it. 

"What the...?"

She put the phone back in the cradle and walked back into the kitchen. Jim wasn't there, but the empty plate was in the sink. "Jim?" she called, and stepped into the drawing room. There was no sign of him there, either, and, when her gaze landed on the sofa, she noticed that his cut up shirt and her sewing kit were also missing. Odd.

She checked the bathroom – also no sign, and his dirtied pants were gone. She went over every inch of the brownstone, but it was like he'd just _vanished_. "Was it something I said?" she wondered out loud.

Then she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening and shutting and raced down the stairs. Peggy was setting her hat and coat on the rack. She turned and smiled, warm and welcoming as always. "Hullo, Angie. Did you have a good performance tonight?"

"Yeah, it was peachy." She'd almost forgotten all about it in all the excitement.

"Sorry to be in so late, only there was an incident just as I was leaving. I can't go into too many details, but you should probably stay out of the Financial District for a couple of days." Peggy let out a sigh. "I'm not entirely certain how long it will take to get everything cleaned up."

"Bad?" Angie asked, quietly. She knew that tone.

"Someone shot up what looked like a holding facility. There were a lot of casualties and...well, let's just say I'm happy to be home." 

"Me too," Angie replied, then went with instinct and pulled Peggy in for a hug.

Peggy seemed slightly startled by the embrace at first, but then she relaxed into it for a minute. "Thank you."

Angie shrugged as she pulled back. "You look like you needed it."

"I suspect I do look a little frazzled," Peggy replied, with a slightly worn smile. "Although, you wouldn't believe what one of the witnesses said about our main suspect's appearance. It sounded like something straight out of one of your fantastical magazines."

"Oh yeah?" Angie asked, intrigued. "I'da thought you'd be all used to the strange and mysterious, considering some of the things you've told me about that Hydra got up to." Which reminded her... "Oh, hey, you didn't happen to see your friend on your way in, did you?"

"Friend?"

"Yeah, tall, dark, matinee idol handsome, has a metal arm, said his name was Jim, although I suspect he wasn't playing me straight there," Angie said. "Said he knew you and Howard. He was waiting on the stoop for Howard when I came home and he was pretty banged up, so I brought him in, got him all cleaned and patched up and everything, but he bolted when I went to call Jarvis and – hey, English, are you okay? You're looking pretty pale."

Peggy did, indeed, look as white as a sheet. "Metal arm, did you say?"

Angie nodded. "Yeah, looked pretty snazzy, like one of Howard's high-tech inventions. Straight out of a movie." She was still dying to know what it was made out of and how it worked.

"And you're...you're alright?" Peggy asked, giving her a concerned look like Angie was hiding a wound from her.

"Yeah, of course, why wouldn't I be?" Angie asked, confused. "He was sweet as pie, polite as you please. Even cleaned up after himself, which is more than I can say for most men." She didn't mention the sewing kit. Maybe it had been an honest mistake, or maybe he'd needed it to mend something. She could always buy another one.

"That does sound...rather rare." Peggy pressed a hand between her breasts and took a slow, leveling breath. Something was very off, but Angie couldn't put her finger on it. Seemed to be going around lately. Maybe Peggy was still shaken by whatever had happened earlier. 

Maybe, after she'd told Peggy about Jim, she could try to get Peggy to open up a little, let her know she had friends now, ones who would listen. Peggy sometimes forgot she had people still breathing who cared about her. People who knew and liked her for a helluva lot more than being Cap's best girl or an agent out in the field.

"You sure you're alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine." 

"If you say so."

"I do," Peggy said, her voice its usual firm, no-nonsense tone now. "And, I, um, I didn't see Jim, I'm sorry to say. But why don't we have a drink and you can tell me all about what happened?"

"Yeah, alright," Angie agreed, with a smile, and let Peggy lead her into the drawing room. "I could use a nightcap after the night I've had." 

Peggy just gave her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Indeed."

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a million to Geckoholic for the great advice and insight on the ending!!!
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)


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